


What made her cross with him

by MGNemesi



Series: I hear that we're married, sweetheart [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Gen, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Protective Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MGNemesi/pseuds/MGNemesi
Summary: We know that Natasha was cross with Steve that morning.But why the heck was she cross with him???





	What made her cross with him

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, site won't let me add some tags from my phone for some reason so: "Blink and you miss it relationship" - meaning Clintasha, and "Greysexual Natasha"
> 
> So, I was supposed to update the main story this weekend, buuu~uut this little tidbit wouldn’t leave me alone. Also, I’ll be on the road Sunday (on a trip that will take 7 to I don’t know how many hours… last time it took 12!!!) so I didn’t think I could safely write and post chapter 17 on that day. Posting this now seemed like a nice, if small, alternative.

**Title:** Rewrite the Stars, Missing Piece #1 - What Made Her So Cross With Him

**Author:** Nemesi.

**Beta:** Self-betaed.

**Fandom:**  Captain America.

**Continuity:** MCU.

**Genre:** Fluff&Angst. Slice of life, I guess?

**Chapter Word Count:** 2600/2700 circa.

**Characters:** Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff.

**Pairings:** Steve/Bucky, blink-and-miss-it reference to possible Clintasha, with ace!spectrum Tasha briefly implied.

**Rating:** PG-13.

**Disclaimer:** Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.

**Warning:** None really. Just that this won’t make a lick of sense unless you’ve read Rewrite the Stars up to chapter 16.

Also, small plot point for Rewrite the Stars has been thrown in here.

**Summary:** Now we know what made Natasha so cross with Steve that morning.

**Note:** So, I was supposed to update the main story this weekend, buuu~uut this little tidbit wouldn’t leave me alone. Also, I’ll be on the road Sunday (on a trip that will take 7 to I don’t know how many hours… last time it took 12!!!) so I didn’t think I could safely write and post chapter 17 on that day. Posting this now seemed like a nice, if small, alternative.

  
  


≡ ☆ ≡

  
  
  


**S** he woke up.

In a comfortable bed, under an unbroken ceiling, which still surprised her some days, even after all those years. She sat up gingerly, mindful of the bruises she could already feel were healing. One hand went around her throat, and she spent a minute feeling the dull throb of her pulse, the slow rush of the air going in and out of her lungs.

She got up.

Showering, doing her hair, putting on make-up. She did all the steps of the ritual, carefully putting on the mask that would tell the world: “I’m still here. Still unbent.”. When it was time to pick her daily clothes, she couldn’t resist slipping back into her pajamas, a huge, silky monstrosity meant for a man twice her size. Not bothering with shoes, she padded on cat-silent feet up to the elevator.

It didn’t come when she put her thumb to the scanner, and it didn’t come when she called it, head tilted slightly towards the ceiling even though she knew neither JARVIS nor Tony where technically up there.

Taking a deep breathe she tried: “Tony’s the bestest of best.”

The elevator made a little happy sound as it reached her floor, but didn’t open. She pinched the bridge of her nose and grumbled: “…and Nat stinks.”

“Password accepted, Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS said as soon as the door to the elevator dinged open, in a tone as close to apologetic as an AI could muster.

Natasha grinned a small grin, and sauntered inside. She chatted pleasantly with JARVIS for the whole, brief descent, sniping back and forth the way she’d do with a real human.

The nutty aroma of coffee had flooded the whole kitchen area by the time she got off the elevator. Bucky and Steve were standing by the coffee machine, playing with the many levers and basking in a poll of pale sunlight, respectively.

She took a moment to gaze at their backs in that postcard-peaceful moment, simply soaking in the sight. Dust motes swirled in the golden air as they touched, speaking softly to one another, gazes lingering. She didn’t have memories of a family of her own, nothing as glass-perfect and tender as this. But her mind went there anyway, to a childhood’s dream of perfection, a loving couple moving in tandem, wading through a dusky light that was sweet and slow as molasses. Hot cocoa poured in a steamy mug; gentle hugs; fluffy blankets and a fire crackling merrily away, puffing out the tang of pinewood. This was what a family looked like, she supposed. Parents.

Shaking off the stupor, she straightened her back a little. Bucky turned and grinned at her, as if he’d been aware all the while of her shadowy presence at the edge of this perfect scene.

“Want some coffee, Spiderling?”

She marched up to him and picked the mug right off his hands, stealing a sip. She let herself lean against his side, nestled like a timid youngling to her sire, soaking up his warmth.

Bucky threw her a glance that tried to be affronted but did a poor job of it. There was a glint in Bucky’s eyes that took away the harshness from his fine features, took off decades and decades of pain. She loved to see him like this, light in a way she couldn’t remember ever seeing him.

Cautiously, she peered up at Captain Rogers. He was looking back at her, not with malice in his eyes, or any hint of challenge. Just with curiosity, and a sort of understanding that moved her. They both needed Bucky, and he was so acutely aware of it, but so generous too.

Without saying a word, he dropped a kiss to Bucky’s lips, exchanged the stolen mug of coffee with his own, and moved to give them some privacy. A sort of tension she wasn’t aware of seeped from Natasha’s bones, and the hold Bucky had around her shoulders tightened briefly.

“He’s protective of his people,” he revealed in a whisper. “And downright possessive, when it comes to it. But for the right reasons? He’d give everything off his back. He’d give his skin and bones, if they could help someone, anyone,” he looked down at her, eyes twinkling. “He’s also a master tactician who cares for his soldiers above all else. So he’s not above sharing me for a while, when he knows it matters.”

“I’m one of his soldiers?” she asked dubiously, meaning _how could someone such as he care about somebody like me?_

“Oh, you’re all doomed,” Bucky replied with feeling. “You fought with him once, now you’re his to protect forevermore.”

“You make it sound like he’s clean-cut and easy to define, but he’s not,” she admitted carefully. “I can’t pin him. He’s shifty. Like the currents.”

“He’s steady,” Bucky whispered back. “He’s the kind of rock you could build palaces on.”

She blew out a noisy breath, not quite convinced. Rocks could be multifaceted, she wanted to say, but didn’t. They had many layers, each reflecting the light in their own ways.

Clint had wandered in by then, and she watched as Rogers hastened to his side, a pillar of strength in his own right, a strength he gave freely and without reserve.

“Steady,” she murmured to herself, as if adding the word to a mental list. “Generous.” She took a measured sip and asked: “What else is he?”

“A punk,” Bucky replied immediately. “With a stubborn streak a mile wide, and an affinity for anything that could hurt him. Even back then, sometimes I thought I oughta put a leash on ‘im, if only to keep ‘im from diving headlong into dangerous stuff. He’s a real big six, but hey, he’s the butterfly’s boots to me, ever was.”

Natasha made a sound of pure delight, silvery and high, and was quick to hide her grin in her coffee mug.

“Careful Soldat, your 30s Brooklyn is showing,” she quipped.

“Whassat mean?” Bucky fired back with an indignant nose wriggle, and laughter bubbled out of her throat.

As they stood grinning to each other like perfect losers, her whole countenance softened, and she reached up to cup his cheek in the palm of one fine, pale hand.

“Happiness is such a good look on you,” she said with wonder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this settled in your skin.”

Bucky smiled down at her, a fan of delightful crow’s feet crinkling the skin around his sparkling eyes. But soon his gaze was magnetised back to the source of all that happiness, and he sighed when he inevitably met Steve’s eyes.

“It’s just… I never thought I’d get to have him back,” he admitted softly. “It’s like a dream I never want to wake up from.”

Natasha let her hand drop.

“He’s good for you,” she said. “He’s just as extraordinary as you always described him. I… honestly, I didn’t think it was possible.”

Bucky turned the full force of his grin back to her.

“Thought I was exaggerating, weren’t you? But no, Steve-” and again his eyes searched for Steve, pulled like magnets “-Steve truly is…”

“Good for you,” she repeated again when he seemed unable to form the proper words to describe his devotion. Bucky gave a wistful sigh, and kept gazing at Steve like a lovelorn pup.

“My, someone is out of it this morning!” she poked him playfully in the side. And her point was proven splendidly when he jumped three inches in the air, caught completely off guard. “Just exactly what have you two been up to last night?” Her voice was bubbly with laughter, and the quirky eyebrow wiggle only served to further stress her meaning.

Bucky huffed out the barest hint of a laugh, and sent a fond look down at her.

“Nothing happened.” Natasha arched an eyebrow, so Bucky explained: “Sex _isn’t_ as vital to a relationship as your jibes always seek to imply. We only held each other, if you really must know.”

Natasha shrugged, a barely-there ripple of her shoulder.

“You know I don’t care for sex that much. I just thought normal people ought to engage into it quite often.”

“There are no ‘normal people’ in these matters, Spiderling,” Bucky chided gently, not liking it one bit when she belittled herself. “It’s a spectrum. There are people who can’t keep their hands off their partners and people who never want to touch anybody in that way. All of it is perfectly normal. As long as you find a partner that understands that part of you, and you can be open with your desires, then it’s fine.”

Natasha couldn’t help throwing Clint a quickly aborted glance. She took a sip of her coffee, grateful that it was still hot, and made a humming, considering noise.

“Still, I want to know exactly what he did once you two were alone.”

“What he did?” Bucky questioned with an arched eyebrow.

She hummed.

“He seems like a total romantic. The Knight in shining armour type, gallant in that old-fashioned way. He must’ve turned it into quite the movie moment.”

“Turned… _what_ exactly?”

As soon as she realised that Bucky’s confusion was genuine, something unpleasant started to congeal inside Natasha’s stomach.

“The moment when… when he told you back that he loves you.”

Something wafted, brief and powerful, across Bucky’s face. Natasha’s knuckles went white around her mug, the skin stretched painfully taut over the hard bones.

“ _I’ll kill him_ ,” she swore over the thudding of her own heart.

“Natalia, no…”

“He didn’t say it back?” She felt faint with a strange, dawning horror. “ _He actually didn’t say it back to you?!_ ”

She gulped the dregs of her coffee in one long pull, the placed the mug down with a controlled fury.

“I’ll talk to him,” she decided, dangerous in her resolve.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Bucky ordered, and it was impossible to mistake it for anything other than an order. Gone was the happy, carefree Bucky of a few minutes before. In his place stood the Winter Soldier, as merciless and cold as a tempered blade.

“ _He didn't say it back to you_ ,” she hissed like it alone justified her fury.

“And it was his right not to,” he answered sternly.

Natasha shook her head quickly, sharply.

“ _No._ No, it wasn’t. I’ll tell him… I’ll make him see,” she promised. “I’ll make him tell you.”

Bucky’s hands dropped from her arms. His shoulders slumped.

“Whyever for? It won’t mean a thing if he says it because you made him. I’d rather he didn’t say it at all.”

“But he feels it!” she hissed urgently. “I know he does.”

The smile on Bucky’s face was beatific. It made her stomach tighten, all that faith. All that trust. How could one contain all that feeling, and not bleed out for it? She felt sick with it.

“I know it, too,” Bucky crooned gently, as if he could feel her turmoil. “I don’t need to hear him say it to know that it’s true.”

“That’s bullshit,” she blurted. “You don’t _need_ it? Well, you _want_ it.”

“I do, but--”

“It’s the same thing again,” she spoke over him. “You don’t think you _deserve_ to hear it, so you won’t let yourself feel the disappointment.”

He watched her like he wanted to speak, but didn’t have the words for it.

“But you do,” she said fiercely. Her throat was dry suddenly, but she felt too much urgency in her veins to stop and wet her lips. “You _do_ deserve to hear it, you deserve to _have_ it, to have him and be happy and--” she startled when he tapped his knuckles gently under her chin.

“We don’t all get what we deserve,” he said, and it came to her suddenly that he meant it in so many ways. That he was speaking, still and both at once, of the young soldier who hadn’t deserved to be stolen and brainwashed, and of the assassin they’d made of him, whom he didn’t think deserved to be roaming free. “Let’s not fight over this, Spiderling. He’ll tell me when he’ll tell me. And if he never does, I’ll just be happy to have him here for a long as he stays. Just let it go. For me?” he asked, smiling a little.

She lowered her head in thought, letting herself be nudged towards the table. She was unable to put the feeling into words, but it cut her, to see him so dejected - so _used_ to dejection - so in love, but feeling so undeserving of it.

She sat at the breakfast table, grabbed from the air the cup of yogurt Clint had thrown with unerring aim, accepted with pleased surprise the fruit that Bruce cut for her, and liberated a teaspoon from under Tony, who was sprawled every which way in his quest to stay glued to the good Doctor Banner.

How could Bucky not rebel over every little hurdle Fate threw at him, she did not know. He always stood, still like a boulder, in the currents. Nothing could move him. If Life pushed him, he just stood his ground, chilled and statuesque, his eyes clear, his lips tin, the cords standing out on his neck, until whatever tide had tried to submerge him, to make him falter, gurgled away around his ankles, defeated, utterly powerless against his will.

She wasn’t like that.

She clawed and bit like some enraged panther; she exhausted herself with her struggle, splashing against the currents until she could reach a shore. Any shore.

She envied the steadiness of him, his quiet strength, the way he never bowed; but she couldn’t stand the way he martyred himself, belittled and tortured himself; the way he strived and pushed and hurt himself, mistaking himself for the monster of his tale, rather than the hero.

Having is husband tell him “I love you”… It was such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things. And yet, he wouldn’t let himself ask or even hope for it. It was sad in a way that was unbearable. Sad and enraging.

There was nothing she could do, she thought miserably. Bucky would always live to atone, and never look favourably at himself. The only man who could, maybe, endear Bucky to his own virtues was his darling Captain. The man who’d overlooked to say “I love you” back to him.

Natasha slowly gathered herself, barely engaging with Pepper and Rhodes as they sauntered in. She was only listening with half an ear when Fury videocalled, ordering them to stay put as if they didn’t already know that it was unsafe to venture outside. But she could read any room even with half her brain otherwise engaged, and knew it was time to scatter.

She could not say anything directly to the Captain - the Soldat had ordered it, and she was as good as _coded_ , down to her DNA, not to disobey him - but she couldn’t let it rest. She could engage, investigate. Hint, maybe. _And vent some goddamn frustration while she was at it._

Looking up, she saw that the Captain was busy gathering pastries on a kerchief, like a doting housewife. He was in love, she could tell. And perhaps just a little slow in the matter of the heart.

Natasha began to smile as she pushed to her feet. Bucky made as if to put a hand on her arm to restrain her, but: “I shall behave, Bátjuška,” she assured amiably.

For a moment, he blinked owlishly at her. Her tone, if not the words, had startled him enough that she could lean against his chest like a strange, huge cat, and peer beseechingly over at his husband.

“Captain,” she began pleasantly enough, but with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. _“How would you like a friendly spar between us?”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**~Continues in chapter 16 of RtS**

Handy twenties-to-forties-lingo dictionary:

**Big six:** A strong guy

**Butterfly's boots:** it means he’s the best, great and dreamy. Equivalent to Cat’s meow or Bee’s knees. I have no idea why I went with the butterfly option.

  
  
  
  



End file.
